


The End of Our Season

by DarkeAngelus



Category: Marvel (Comics), Resident Evil, X-Force (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Friendship, Gay Male Character, M/M, What If-?, X-Corporation, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/pseuds/DarkeAngelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A/U - In a world taken over by the undead, Rictor is left wondering if survival is really the best choice when all hope appears to be lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of Our Season

Anole was supposed to be green. 

That was the first hint that something might be wrong with the young mutant. When he appeared in the cafeteria, his usual green reptilian skin was an ashy gray. He was also snarling and frothing at the mouth and that wasn't like him at all. Rockslide, at first, had thought it a practical joke in the worst vein possible (given their current situation) until Anole flicked his tongue around Hope Abbott's neck, yanked her out of her chair, and promptly ripped her face off with the claws of his empowered right arm. Then, he proceeded to tear her chest open and feast on her heart right there in the middle of the breakfast rush. 

"Holy shit, he's turned!" Rockslide shouted and managed to get an arm-lock around his best friend's neck, pulling him from Trance's still-twitching corpse. Victor writhed in the empowered grip, breaking off several teeth as he tried chewing on the mutant's granite limb. 

Wolverine appeared and cut off his head with absolutely no hesitation on his part. Jaws still gnashing in spastic reaction, Anole's head went sailing through the air and landed in Julian Keller's cereal bowl. The mutant known as Hellion took one look at the mess in front of him and puked into his own lap. 

"And so begins another day of life on Muir Island," Julio Richter remarked out loud, pushing his plate of eggs away from him before he followed Keller's example.

 

* * *

 

M-Day, also known as the Decimation, never happened to the inhabitants of this particular Earth, but it would have been more merciful if it had. The Scarlet Witch's spell had only affected mutants and, if push came to shove, at least two-thirds of those affected by its affects would have admitted to being quite happy with that arrangement. Superpowers were all fine and dandy when they were a beneficial attribute and not some curse like acidic skin or horns growing in the wrong place. No, what happened in its place was a thousand times worse and it affected everyone and everything it came in contact with. 

The first hint that anything was going wrong was when a large city in the Midwestern United States was levelled by what was rumored to be a nuclear power plant explosion. That caused a large part of the urban area around the Great Lakes to be evacuated due to the fallout. It was Alpha Flight who reported the outbreak of some strange 'illness' beginning to affect the population of Toronto, Canada. By the time the X-Corporation team in New York investigated, the Canadian team had disappeared and the city was under quarantine. As impossible as it seemed, the dead had taken it over. 

Following the jetstream along with the fallout, eastern North America fell prey to what was later known as the T-Virus. All superheroes based in New York tried to stem the flow of the pathogen to no avail. The Fantastic Four dropped to three when Reed Richards discovered his elastic skin was not impervious to an infected bite. Of them all, Mr. Fantastic would have been the only one possibly capable of discovering a cure in time to save the world; instead, he was one of the first heroes to fall. His wife, the Invisible Woman, had been the one to put him down for good. The Avengers suffered catastrophic losses before retreating to the safety of the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier. No one ever knew what happened to solo operatives like Spiderman or Daredevil. The X-Men moved to the West Coast and tried to set up their own mutant sanctuary in California. As the virus spread across the country, the refuge of the San Francisco Bay became moot as hordes of undead crossed the channel and invaded the refuge they called Utopia. In desperation, the survivors of that one-sided battle retreated to Muir Island, a small moot of rock located off the northern tip of Scotland. 

Rictor was based in Paris along with a bunch of other mutants in the European satellite offices of X-Corporation. They were warned by Xavier to remain where they were in the hopes that the outbreak would stay confined to North America. That dream was shattered when Cannonball and Jamie Madrox went out to try and contain a riot and one of the Multiple Man's duplicates got bitten. Jamie contracted the disease when he reabsorbed the dupe out of reflex. The T-virus was particularly compatible with the mutant genome and when Jamie turned, he sent legions of his infected duplicates out across Paris, attacking everything in sight. Sabra managed to find and kill the original, causing the rest of the horde to disappear, but by then the damage was done. The city was lost and the virus spread out from France like ripples in a polluted puddle, quickly covering Europe and Asia. 

Previously the base of Dr. Moira MacTaggert's research facility, Muir Island became the reluctant permanent residence of over five hundred mutants and allies lucky enough to flee before succumbing to the disease. The complex had not been designed to handle so many people, but there was enough diversity and resourcefulness among the group to make the island habitable. Eventually. It became a fortress that now embraced its primary covenant with even more zeal: To find and rescue mutants at all costs. The human race was lost. There was still a chance that homo-superior could rise above the ashes.

 

* * *

 

There was a memorial service for Victor Borkowsky and Hope Abbott officiated by Nightcrawler, who was an ordained priest. Almost all of the inhabitants of the island were in attendance. Despite his actions in the cafeteria (which were not really his fault), Anole had been enormously popular among the younger generation of mutants. Hope had been a recent rescue, not well known, but the tragedy of both losses could not be discounted. The grim ceremony was mercifully quick and efficient. The limited land area of the island was dedicated to greenhouses and the ever-continuing expansion of the base so burial was impossible. Magma used her powers to incinerate the remains. Jonas Graymalkin and Santo Vaccarro and a handful of other close friends spread the ashes of their two friends out over the Atlantic. 

Standing a respectful distance away, his coat pulled tight around him, Rictor watched the small cluster of youths attend to what was becoming too common a sight. "Moira found a shallow bite on his wrist. He must have become infected on the last scavenging mission. Why didn't he say anything?" 

James Proudstar slowly shook his head. "He had a regenerative ability. Since mutants with healing factors are immune, he must have kept it a secret hoping his system could fight it. Who knows? What's done is done." 

" _Meirda_ , what a mess," Ric muttered, shivering in the cold wind blowing off the water. It never seemed to stop. It was supposed to be summer, but Mother Nature seemed to have ignored the memo. After a period of uncomfortable silence, he blurted out, "He was gay, you know." 

"Hell, everybody knew. He didn't exactly hide it. Graymalkin is really taking this hard. I think the two of them were . . . well . . ." He shrugged his huge shoulders in awkward response when words failed him. 

Rictor noted Warpath's unease on the subject and didn't press the issue. He kicked absently at a rock. "It doesn't really matter anymore, does it? Race, gender . . . sexuality. The only thing that defines us now is 'mutant'." 

"Yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it." 

The Mexican sighed. "When is it our turn to ship out?" 

"We're scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. With this business with Anole, things might have changed. I'll go check with Cyclops and let you know." 

"Gracias." 

The large Native American began turning away to return to base and then looked back, considering his friend closely. They had been on Muir Island for close to three months and Rictor seemed to be deteriorating. He had lost weight and wasn't sleeping. It was no secret among their team that Moira had placed the Mexican on anti-depressants. "If we're still a 'go', you can sit this one out if-" 

"I have to keep busy. Sitting around's no good for me. I'm okay, Jim," Ric said, watching the little collection of Anole's friends begin to break apart as each teenager went off to deal with their grief in a more private location. Graymalkin was crying. Julio couldn't hear him, but the young man's head was down and his shoulders were shaking. Rockslide was the only one who stayed by him. 

"Okay," Warpath rumbled. He slapped Ric's shoulder and walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, Julio bowed his head and wept tears of his own.

 

* * *

 

There was a round-the-clock group of select psionics stationed to monitor Cerebra and search for stranded mutants. When in global search mode, the detector designated mutant signatures as points of light on a globe and a strike team with an assigned teleporter was immediately sent out to retrieve the individual(s). It was a flawed design, initially only picking up Omega, Alpha, Beta, and Gamma-classed mutants and ignoring seventy percent of the rest which were classified as Delta and Epsilon. Hank McCoy was carefully tweaking the program to accept the parameters of detecting lesser mutant power levels and Hope Abbott, after more than two weeks of no hits, had been a success story that the program was finally starting to work. He, like the rest of the senior members of the X-Men, could only pray that it wasn't too late. 

Xi'an Coy Manh was serving her early morning rotation when Cerebra roused her from a near-doze with a detection alarm. On the projected hologram of the earth, it showed a cluster of mutant signatures all located in the center of Kazakhstan. She sent out the alarm to the X-Men and, within minutes, the control room was buzzing with activity. 

"Could it be a glitch?" Bobby Drake asked, poking the blinking lights with a dubious finger. The detector acted like a radar. During a pass, sometimes the power signatures appeared and then, on the next, they faded. 

Charles Xavier took the helmet from Karma and marshalled all of his considerable telepathic power to home in on the source. One of the signatures was immediately familiar. "Domino. I'm sensing her clearly. It's no glitch. She's with several mutants." 

"She was based in the X-Corp office in Hong Kong," Scott Summers said. "We lost contact with her and the others when the city was overrun. How on earth-?" 

"We will ask her personally after we rescue them. Who is next on the rotation?" Storm asked. 

"Siryn's group." 

Xavier sent out the mental summons.

 

* * *

 

Despite the early hour, Julio was already wide awake in his assigned quarters, which permitted a twin bed and bureau and little room for anything else. It didn't really matter. When he and the others had hastily evacuated their Paris building, it had been overrun by 'rotters' (an expression Captain Britain had used on the walking undead and just seemed to stick) and all Julio had on him were the clothes on his back, just like the rest of his surviving team-mates. Salvaging missions into towns and boroughs had yielded more than enough clothing and varied essentials for everyone over the last few months. No one was really lacking for anything, except peace of mind. 

Some were coping better than others and Ric was no exception. He wasn't coping well with this situation _at all_. He was unable to sleep most nights and this one wasn't any different. He was lying on his back with his hands crossed behind his head, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes and fought the tears back. "I tried." He mouthed the words silently. " _Dios,_ I really tried. I'm sorry." 

When he received the mental call of duty, he was almost relieved. Anything would be a merciful diversion to the alternative of dealing with the regrets and losses going over and over in his mind until he thought he might finally break down screaming from the stress of trying to contain it all. He listened to the instructions and sat up, swinging his legs around to get dressed. A hand immediately grasped his wrist, stopping him from getting out of bed. 

"What is it? What's happening?" 

Rahne Sinclair was looking at him with wide-eyed panic. She wasn't coping with what had happened to the planet very well, either. She was convinced that the Rapture had come and gone, damning her to this Hell on Earth for reasons she simply couldn't comprehend (or accept). She became a deacon of Nightcrawler's non-denominational church and was there every day (along with a surprising number of the island's displaced inhabitants). It was getting to a point that she was becoming a religious zealot and carried a Bible with her everywhere she went, even on missions. She shared Rictor's bed out of sheer loneliness and familiarity, but refused to have sex with him, insisting it was against the will of God. After more than a month of this understood arrangement, it finally began to dawn on her that Julio didn't appear at all bothered by that restriction. He seemed more than content with simply holding her. Nothing beyond that. Even chaste kisses seemed to be something like a inconvenience for him. She had been hoping to goad a proposal from him by now, not this meagre acceptance of comfort, and was growing more panic-stricken with each passing day that she was losing him. 

He shook her hand off and turned on the lamp and began getting dressed. The days of garishly-colored costumes were a thing of the past. Their mission uniforms were now composed of head-to-toe Kevlar to keep the bites and scratches to a minimum. They were cumbersome, ugly outfits; hot and uncomfortable and seemed to take forever to fit properly because of the multitude of Velcro straps and buckles. "Cerebra found some mutants. X-Force is next up on the mission roster." 

"I wish I could come with you." 

"We already have a tracker," Julio said shortly. 

She recoiled from his words and that started the predictable water-works. Pulling the sheet and comforter closer around her body, she began crying. Between hitching sobs, she managed to get out: "Ah knew it! Yew dinnae want me here anymore, do ye? Ach, Julio. How can ye be so mean? We've known each other fer years!" 

Julio looked at the door, briefly considered the escape it provided, and then went reluctantly back to the bed to sit beside her. He tucked an errant stand of long red hair behind her ear and tried to smile. It looked more like a pained rictus, but it was better than nothing. "I like having you here, Rahne, and that's the truth." 

"Do ye love me?" 

That wiped the strained smile from his face. She might as well have slapped him. ". . . Huh?" 

"Tis a simple question, Julio Esteban Richter. _Either ye do or ye don't!"_  

He started to rise off the bed. "This isn't the time for this. I have a mission I have to get ready to-" 

"T'blazes with the bloody mission!" She grabbed his left hand and he saw that crazed shine to her eyes, a precursor to a change. He could feel her fingernails beginning to grow into talons beneath his palm. "I love ye and I want to marry ye and have yuir-" 

"Not now!" he snapped, wrenching his hand away from her tight grip. He backed away from her and quickly gathered the rest of his clothes. "We'll talk about this when I get back. _¿Comprendes?_ " 

"I won't be here. I-I'll go back to me old room. I _will_." 

"Whatever." Ric left his quarters without so much as a backwards glance. He finished dressing in the hallway, glaring at the closed door to his room and thinking about a different redhead that he wished was in there instead.

 

* * *

 

Rictor joined his team-mates in the briefing room and, in that split-second before the reality of his present situation set in, he was reminded of the one time in his hectic life when he had been genuinely happy: Being with X-Force. This variation was almost like his old familiar team; Theresa Cassidy was their leader, Warpath the muscle, Sunspot the powerhouse, Feral the tracker, and Tabitha Smith for additional support. Her plasma bombs had proven invaluable in combat against rotters. Rictor was considered the Alpha-class mutant of the team to be used in a worst-case scenario. When a mission had gone wrong in Wichita, and they found the city completely overrun with the dead, he had created a sinkhole that had swallowed over half of the city and enabled them to escape without losses. They were paired with one of the Island's most valuable resources even greater than food or fresh water: A teleporter. The addition of Dusk to the membership was the only difference to them being like their core X-Force crew (no one dared speak of the glaring void in the team that her presence failed to fill). In truth, because of her own arcane undead status and what was currently going on in the world, X-Force was the only team willing to take her. They were a collection of misfit mutants in their own right who were all about second-chances and had handled their fair share of peculiar alliances. Cassie felt right at home with them. 

At the mission briefing, Julio visibly perked up at the discovery of Domino. Friendship aside, he didn't think that anyone had managed to get out of Asia alive. He had seen how badly that part of the country had fared in light of the zombie apocalypse with his own two eyes. There were questions eating away at him that only she might be able to answer. 

"Are you in contact with Domino now?" He looked urgently at Xavier. "Who else is with her? Is-" 

"Rictor, I'm sorry. The static is too intense to establish a rapport," the professor told him gravely, more than aware of the third unspoken question. As the T-virus spread across the globe, it reacted with active and recessive mutant genes with absolutely no discrimination and turned those powers "on", sometimes amplifying them. Right now, the planet was sheathed in a shared-telepathic scream that zombie-telepaths were unable to stop projecting, interfering with Xavier's considerable mental powers. 

_"¡Chale!"_ Ric spat and glared at his team-mates. "Well? What are we standing around here for? Let's go!" he said impatiently. It was the first time that he had shown some interest in a mission for weeks. 

"You heard the man," Siryn said, putting on her protective helmet. She nodded to Cassie St. Commons who immediately began calling forth her teleporting shadows. As she did so, a part of her was engrossed in the second-nature act of familiarizing herself with each of her team's psychic scents so that she could keep track of them in case they got separated. 

In a matter of seconds, the group was transported from Muir Island and deposited directly in the center of what had once been some sort of ball field near the Capital of Astana and was now a blazing inferno. And they weren't alone. 

Siryn and Sunspot immediately took to the air and began to provide air support, picking off rotters that were eagerly approaching the new arrivals, obviously drawn to the conflagration. It was X-Force's poor luck that this extraction site was located just outside of the second largest city of the country, which was obviously as contaminated as the rest of Europe that was being gobbled up by the T-Virus at a horrific pace. Rotters didn't do so well in cold climates; their joints seized up with rigor mortis, but when they were around sources of heat they really got moving. 

"Oh, holy hell! What a mess!" Warpath cried in dismay, punching out at a pair of lively corpses which were on fire and clearly not noticing the inconvenience. He was grateful for the facemask that kept the gore from his skin as the heads of both rotters exploded under his gloved fists, coating the plastic with steaming brains. "Fuck!" he cursed, fighting blind. 

It was a bad scene, but Rictor and Boom Boom protectively flanked Feral as she tried to catch a scent from the charred earth. All they could see among the smoke and running, shambling bodies was wreckage from a crashed helicopter with no sight of Domino or the others. 

"Do your thing, pussycat! Hurry up!" Tabby shouted. 

Feral hissed back. "Don' rush me! Mebbe you'd like to get your kisser down here an try to catch a scent." 

"I'm just saying-" 

Rictor cut in with; "Feral, can you smell them or not?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I think so. Someone's bleedin', which is prob'ly why this pack is so worked up-" 

"Oh cripes, Ric! On your six!" Boomer was already whirling around and throwing a bomb just as Julio was looking up. Her explosive blew the rotter off at the knees, but the bastard was still crawling eagerly towards them, its jaws snapping together. 

"Fuck this shit," Ric growled under his breath and pulled off his gloves, pressing his hands into the dirt. He created a seismic shockwave that catapulted the corpse into the air. Forcing his power to resonate with deeper layers of earth strata, he split the ground wide open with a fissure so deep that far down into the depths was the faint glow of magma. "Push them in, guys! They won't be crawling outta that!" 

Feral was spitting and hissing and he turned just in time to see her tousling with a huge yellow-skinned, multi-armed rotter with flailing wings. _"Qué chingados!_ Is-is that _Lifeguard?_ " 

"Snap out of it, Ric! She's turned!" Siryn screamed from above them at the same time Boomer created another bomb, far larger than the first. "Outta the way, cat!" she called out just as she threw it. 

Feral was hampered by her heavy gear and her co-ordination was off because she had to tuck her tail down into one of the legs of the suit. Without her claws or fangs, all she could do is flail helplessly until Rictor lunged forward and pull her free just as Tabby's bomb sailed over their heads and hit the thing that had once been Heather Cameron. It blew her apart, coating the two with her remains. 

"Nice shot," Ric said, grimacing as he wiped his faceplate clean and trying desperately not to gag. It didn't help that Feral's senses were currently overloaded and she was noisily retching beside him. "Get a grip, Maria. We have a job to do," he said, not unkindly, as he looked around for the others. Siryn, Warpath, and Sunspot were successfully driving the brainless horde into the chasm. Dusk was picking off the stragglers and making them disappear into arcane pockets of shadow. Within minutes, the site was cleared and Feral had shaken off her shock and was leading them away from the crash site, following a faint blood trail. The fact that she could pick it out among the smoke and reeking scents of the undead was testimony to her skills as a tracker. Wolverine had made it a point to force the mutants with enhanced senses through a training drill so thorough that it had left some of them traumatized (Rahne Sinclair in particular). Logan, perhaps the only one of the entire planet quite unfazed by this terrible disaster, seemed to enjoy telling them over and over: The world had changed and not for the better. The time for sensitive stomachs was over. 

"I'm picking up several scents now. Really fresh. C'mon!" Feral said, leading their team further into the park and away from the city. It was really a relief to have that revenant at their backs, where the only sounds coming from the former capital were sirens, explosions, and screams as the dead overwhelmed what remained of the living. 

Several rotters were wandering aimlessly around in the woods. By the time they had their sights trained on the crew of mutants, they were picked off by one power or other, and they weren't getting back up. The days of superhumans using their powers just to incapacitate were over. 

There was a water tower looming ahead of them. Before Feral could point at it, a long-haired figure dropped from the trees and brandished twin blades at them. Rictor's heart leapt into his throat and he took an excited step forward before it registered that the new arrival's hair was blond and the markings on the man's face were around both eyes, not just one. 

"Kythri's bloody claws!" Adam Neramani exclaimed in astonishment, dropping his fists which were armed with thet'je blades. "I don't believe it!" 

"X-Treme?" Siryn exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" 

"Long story, _roosha_. Risque and a few of the kids are hurt. Follow me!" 

At the mere mention of his ex-girlfriend, Warpath broke ranks and caught up to the Shi'ar hybrid as they ran to the water tower. Rictor stuck to the back of the excited group, making it look like he was keeping watch on their blindside but really trying to rally his disappointment before he fell to pieces. 

The small group of survivors had climbed the iron ladder to the top of the tower to wait for rescue, or make their last stand, whichever came first. Domino was among them, looking haggard and gaunt for her ordeals of the last few months, but she broke out into a dazzling grin when she saw the familiar faces. Members of X-Force were more than just former team-mates to her; they were family, and in these sorry times she was astonished and delighted to see so many of them still alive. "Hey kids! Glad you could join us! Cerebra's finally working again?" 

"She was working all along, but the planet's shrouded in psychic static. She could only pick out the strongest mutants until Hank rewrote the program," Roberto told her, helping Boomer with the first aid kit. Aside from Domino, Risque, and Adam, the other survivors were five unknown kids of varying races and ages. 

"Were any of you bitten?" Roberto asked as he warily investigated a nasty gash on one young boy's leg. 

"No. These injuries are from our helicopter going down," Domino told him. "One of the kids has the power to manipulate electricity and accidentally fried our systems. We lost Ursa Major in the crash-" 

One of the young girls began quietly weeping. 

Adam was looking out over the edge of the tower as if searching for something. "Unfortunately, it also attracted the wrong kind of attention. Lifeguard helped us get free of the wreckage and make a break for it. She hasn't come back yet." 

"We found her. She'd turned," Siryn said. 

He looked at her. " _Jgeech?_ It happened that quick? It's only been a few hours!" 

"I'm sure." 

"Did you . . . did you _deal_ with her?" 

"Yes." 

" _Rakk_ ," he whispered, lowering his head in regret and walking a short distance away, his back to them. Heather had also been of Shi'ar descent and it was clear in the grief Adam displayed that they had formed some sort of relationship these last few months. 

"We didn't think anyone from X-Corp was still alive," Risque said, staring at Warpath with relieved eyes. "Domino was trying to get us to another safe house before we went down." 

" _Another_ one?" 

"That's what we've been doing since this damned thing broke out. Jumping from one place to another," Domino said. "When Hong Kong fell, we rallied to a bunker in Hanoi, then-" 

"Hold on." Rictor was looking at her with sharp interest. "Who else was with you?" 

"Our X-Corp crew: Me, Risque, Strong Guy, Sunfire, Thunderbird, and Ursa Major. Mikhail was the one who told us about a top-secret facility in Russia run by an organization called The Umbrella Corporation that was supposedly working on a cure. So we decided-" 

Ric lapsed into deep thought and was brought back into the conversation when she said, "-star who suggested we make a move to the airport at Chiang Mai and get a helicopter-" 

" _Star?_ Shatterstar was with you?" he asked doubtfully. 

"Yeah, he ran with the remains of the Singapore crew to Hatyai-" 

Rictor savagely shook his head. "He was in Madripoor when the zombie shit went down. I went there myself to get him. The place was a dead zone. I barely got out of there alive." He cast a look to Dusk who nodded an affirmative. They had both gotten in trouble for the unsanctioned trip, but Rictor had heard about Shatterstar being alone in Madripoor, investigating some sort of underground alien/mutant fighting ring when the plague hit, stranding him there. Ric could not, in good conscience, let things between them end like that. By the time he had arrived, Madripoor belonged to the hungry undead. _Dios_ , he had tried his damnest to find his friend in that hellhole, but the odds had been overwhelming and, in the end, Cassie brought him back to the island over his protests. 

"He managed to get out of there just as things were falling to pieces," Domino told him. "He tried to help the Singapore office evacuate, but the only ones who survived that mess were Lifeguard and X-Treme." 

"And now I'm the only one from that bunch still breathing," Adam said, wandering back to the group. His face was grim and pale. 

Rictor had to force the words out. "He . . . Shatterstar's dead?" 

"Well, he probably is by now," Adam remarked, adding a distracted shrug. 

Before his team-mates could hold him back, Rictor sprinted across the short distance and took up the lapels of X-Treme's heavy leather coat, activating his powers and giving the half-breed a tooth-rattling shake. " _Is he or isn't he?!"_ Ric roared into his face. 

"Whoa! Julio, calm down!" Warpath called out. He tried to put a hand on his friend's shoulder and had it brutally shaken off. 

"He was bitten, _chayeh?_ You understand? He was infected," Adam said, trying to pry the Mexican's hands off of him. 

"So what? He has a healing factor!" 

"He wasn't bitten just once, Julio. Or twice," Domino said, coming up along side of him and gently extracting his angry grip from the other mutant. "He's been battling walkers ever since he got out of Madripoor. After all this time of constant combat, his system couldn't fight off the infection anymore. The wounds stopped healing. He started getting sick-" 

"Like Longshot," Siryn said in a halting voice. When Domino looked over at her, the redhead explained; "On a mission, he received a wound that was contaminated by rotter blood. We took him back to Muir Island and placed him in quarantine expecting him to turn. Instead . . ." 

"He died," Tabitha finished when her friend lapsed into silence. "He got really sick and just . . . died. Moira said it had something to do with being from the Mojoverse." 

"Longshot didn't have a healing factor, but he and Star's DNA are nearly identical," Rictor muttered out loud, stepping away from X-Treme and pulling off his helmet. He began running a hand absently back and forth through his sweaty hair. " _Dios mío_ , they're both from Mojoworld." He cast a despondent look at Domino. "Where is he?" 

"He's probably still at the airport in Chiang Mai. He made sure we took off safely. That place wasn't as bad as some of the others we've been at, but . . ." 

"You left him behind," Ric said in a hollow, shaken voice. 

"He went out fighting," Adam responded, trying to lend some comfort. "It was what he wanted." 

Rictor instinctively looked to Dusk who was already interpreting what was to come with her sixth sense. She had a psychic link to her team-mates and what was sticking out in the forefront of Julio's mind was just about as bright as a beacon. Before he could say a word, she turned to the kids and said, "I'm taking you all back to our sanctuary at Muir Island. We have beds and showers and all the food you could ever eat. You'll be warm and safe there. I promise." 

"Does it have an X-Box?" one young boy asked tentatively. 

"It sure does. A Playstation and a Wii, too." And that was the truth, although the last thing anybody wanted to be doing was playing violent video games like Left 4 Dead or Painkiller. Those disks had long since been destroyed simply out of angry spite anyway. Downtime at Muir Island was largely spent farming, scavenging, and mourning. No sense letting the kids know about that until they got there, she supposed. 

With her powers, Dusk took them all back to home base and there was a sizable crowd waiting for them when they arrived. The rescue was quite a coup; eight healthy bodies to add to the survivor pool. In light of what had happened with Anole and Trance the day before, it was some much needed good news. 

While Hank and Moira looked the survivors over, Rictor immediately went over to Cassie and whispered, "You know what I want to do." 

She sighed. "I know." 

"Will you do it?" 

She cast a look at the mingling group of happy mutants. "Don't you want to wait for awhile? This was a really good thing we did today, Ric. Why not stay here and enjoy it?" 

"I can't. Time's running out and I've got more important things to do than party." 

She scowled at him in confusion. "What do you mean, 'time's running out', Julio? You heard what the others said. Your friend is probably dead. I'm sorry, but-" 

"It's not that, Cassie," Ric said. 

And showed her. 

In the infirmary, introductions were passed around and the youths were revealed to be Hisako Ichiki, Roxy Washington, Tatiana Caban, Maxwell Jordan, and Noriko Ashida, who's out of control power slip had been responsible for their helicopter crash. She was feeling acute misery for her part in that incident and for Ursa Major and Lifeguard's deaths. Xavier soothed her concerns as only he was able to do and assigned each new arrival an escort to show them around the facility that was to be their new home. 

"You did real good today, kids," Logan said to X-Force, pulling a celebratory cigar out of a hidden pocket. It was a luxury too long denied him and he lit it and savoured the taste with great relish, ignoring the revolted expressions of the other X-Men. He reached down and ruffled Feral's mane. "Particularly you, puss. Great tracking work." 

"Anything to prevent a refresher course from _you_ ," she sputtered, soothing her hair back the way she liked it. She stalked out of the room without another word, in obvious sour spirits. It eventually dawned on the gathered senior mutant members that none of X-Force looked particularly happy despite the successful mission. 

Normally, Xavier chose to let a team decompress for an afternoon before any debriefing, but sensed the necessity to hear about what had happened in Kazakhstan. It didn't take long. There had been many lives lost that could have been spared if Cerebra had worked properly, but it was clear that it was Shatterstar's death, an original founding member of their original team, that was upsetting them the most. 

"Domino said he was going the same way that Longshot . . ." Siryn's voice cracked and she couldn't complete the sentence. 

"Different alien races react differently to the T-Virus. Skrulls and Kree appear to be immune, but the Shi'ar were particularly susceptible, just like those from Mojoworld," Xavier said, keeping his own voice carefully neutral. He had lost Lilandra two months ago. Out of retaliation for the loss of their monarch, the Shi'ar placed the entire Earth's star system under strict quarantine, forbidding any other races to interact with the planet and rescue the survivors. Their actions had the possibility of instigating an interstellar war as the other two empires began challenging the restriction. "Moira suspects it's related to having hollow bones which hampers white cell production. She's not entirely sure." 

"Poor Star," Tabitha said. 

"Sounds to me like he went out fighting," Wolverine said, still puffing contentedly away. "I can't think of a better way for a warrior to go than that." 

"He wasn't just a warrior. _He was our friend!_ And he deserved better than to die alone!" Siryn screamed, cracking the screen on a nearby laptop as the pitch of her voice hit the ultra-sonic. With tears in her eyes, she turned around and marched out of the room in the direction Feral had gone. That marked the steady progression of the other X-Force members excusing themselves and leaving. In the uncomfortable void left by their departure, no one noticed the absence of two particular members until it was far too late for anyone to do anything.

 

 

* * *

 

It was early afternoon when Rictor and Dusk suddenly materialized on the cracked asphalt of a long airway strip. They were staring at the airport outside of Chiang Mai, China where Domino and the others had commandeered the helicopter. From the extent of the devastation, several aircrafts had crash landed around the area. The radio control tower was standing, but over half of the hangers and buildings were in ruins; the fires that had consumed them only now dying down. One plane, which looked like a big 727, had torn a swath of destruction through the main terminal and kept on going all the way down to the highway where it had exploded. Oily smoke was still rising from the ruins. 

"Man, if this isn't an indication things have gone straight to hell, I don't what else could convince me," Julio muttered under his breath. He had abandoned his protective gear and was wearing just his street clothes now. Slung over his shoulder was a heavy pack crammed with various essentials. 

Cassie St. Common's cast a wary eye, and mind, around the area. "The place actually looks deserted." 

"Yeah, well, that's Shatterstar for you. He's thorough." 

"You think he's still alive, don't you?" 

Rictor thought long and hard on the question. Finally, he permitted one solemn nod. 

"Then let me come with you. I can take you both back to Muir Island and-" 

"-And what?" he asked, rounding on her. The harsh angles of his too-thin face stood out in stark relief in the sunlight. "He wouldn't want to die in a bed. That's not his style. If he's as bad off as Domino said he was . . . if he's too weak to do himself in, then someone else has to do it for him. That's his way." 

"Why you?" Dusk asked. "I can go get Wolverine-" 

The sudden blaze of fury in his eyes halted her words, making her stammer before she fell back with, "Why does it have to be you, Ric?" 

"You know why," he said, dropping his eyes and kicking at some dirt with the toe of his shoe. 

"This is Madripoor all over again," she huffed, crossing her arms. 

Rictor didn't answer because they both knew she was right. 

"I'll stay here and wait for you." 

"Not this time. Go back to Muir Island." 

"Julio-" 

He sighed. "Cassie, you know you can't talk me out of this. Your rapport goes a lot deeper than just tracking psychic scents and we both know it. What's it telling you now?" 

"That I'm wasting my breath," she said in a near-whisper. She leaned forward and kissed him on either cheek, lingering long enough to whisper into his ear, "I hope you find him, Julio. I hope you finally find some peace." 

He kissed her back. "Gracias." 

She pulled away, but wasn't ready to leave. Not just yet. "Is there anything you want me to pass long to the team? And-and Rahne?" 

"Just that I love them all and not to feel bad about what's happened. _Que sera sera_ and all that jazz. I'm where I want to be. Especially if I find Star." 

"And can I tell them about . . . _him_?" 

Julio seriously considered the question. He and Dusk had privately argued after that failed rescue mission in Madripoor, which had placed both their lives in needless danger. In the midst of angry exchanges, the truth of Ric's relationship with Shatterstar had accidentally come out. Cassie had been surprised but, like the true friend that she was, resolved to keep it their secret and she had been true to her word to this very day. 

The constant tension in his shoulders eased when he betrayed a weak little laugh. "Sure. By the time the questions start flying, it'll be too late anyway. Sure, Cassie, you can tell them. I just wish I had been brave enough to do it myself. I just couldn't, y'know?" 

"You're plenty brave, Ric," she said, looking at the smouldering mess of an airport that was more like some tomb than a landmark. Anyone who would willingly enter that chaos was a person who had nothing to fear. Or someone with a death wish. Only these two knew the actual truth. 

"Not when it counted most," he finally said, his voice dropping low. He turned his back on her and began walking in the direction of the ruined airport. "Go back home, Dusk. Take good care of yourself and the others." 

"Good-bye, Rictor," she whispered and, after a brief internal debate, disappeared from view. 

Ric walked across the airport strip, keeping his eyes glued to the control tower. Several windows up there were open, not broken from the looks of things. It would make an excellent watch-tower for someone still in his right mind. He waved a white rag hoping to attract some attention and maybe receive a signal, but saw nothing. He was too far away to call out his approach and didn't think that was a good idea anyway. He could hear moaning grunts in the expansive ruins; indications that some of the rotters were still mobile. It wasn't long before he started coming across bodies that looked like they had been hacked to pieces by something sharp. One head was gawking blindly up at him as he walked past, the skull cleaved by something that had left two deep slashes barely a quarter of an inch apart. There was only one weapon he knew that was capable of leaving behind marks like that. He sped up his pace. 

More bodies. All cut to pieces in a frenzy. The trail led to the tower which he discovered was surrounded by security fencing complete with "Y" brackets at the top of each galvanized steel post that held hot-dip zinc plated coiled razor wire. He had to hand it to the Chinese; they knew how to defend their assets. A dozen or so rotters were stumbling over the bodies of their counterparts (and in their previous life, probably their co-workers) and circling the enclosure, looking for a way in. 

Rictor couldn't find one either. He shouldn't have been surprised. Shatterstar had superhuman agility and could easily jump over that two-meter high fence to get in or out. The question now was if he was already dead or lying low and dying. 

Knowing he had little time to waste, Ric went around to the far side of the tower, which looked like a cross between the Seattle Space needle and a light house, and picked up a handful of rocks. He began throwing them, using his power over stone to make them go further than his own physical strength could manage. Most found their mark, bouncing off the windows. One crashed through a panel of glass and he stopped throwing, holding his breath so that he could listen for a reaction. 

There wasn't one. 

"Star!" he hissed. "Shatterstar! _Gaveedra!_ " He was beginning to attract attention just as he'd feared. The rotters by the barricade were beginning to realize that there was something on their side of the wire far more easier to chase. Seemingly as a unit they began to advance on him. With a sensation akin to nausea, he could see that some of them were drooling. 

" _Ay meirda_ ," he grumbled, back-pedaling. He tried one more time. " _Star!_ Godammit! _It's Rictor!_ " He didn't have time to try again. Two of the undead, their bodies half charred, were moving more quickly than the others, almost at a trot. Dropping to one knee, Ric place a palm flat down on the pavement and the ground heaved away from him like a wave in an ocean, knocking all of the rotters to the ground. He then clasped both hands together in that unmistakable gun-shape and began picking off the ones that were getting back up. The days of releasing controlled bursts of seismic energy to stun were over. When these blasts hit, the ruined bodies blew apart in a spray of limbs and entrails. It didn't take out the brains and kill them for good, but as long as he avoided going anywhere near the heads, he figured he'd be fine. 

Just when he began thinking he was just about done, a hand landed on his shoulder and he whirled around and found himself eye-to-eye with a grinning, reeking zombie. Just as the mangled rotter was moving in to take a bite out of Rictor's stunned face, there was a sound like ripping silk and the head was smoothly severed from its shoulders. The body was kicked away before its fluids could get on him, but the Hispanic barely noticed. He was staring wide-eyed at his unexpected saviour. 

For a span of a few frenzied heart-beats, there was only silence between them before Ric managed to choke out, "Holy fuck, amigo. What happened to your _hair?_ " 

Shatterstar, looking haggard and unsteady, blew out an exasperated breath through his nose, which made it start bleeding. Ignoring the question, he rumbled, "What are you doing here, Rictor?" 

"What'dya think? That I'm working for Avon? I came here for _you_ , man." 

"Unnecessary. Go back." 

"Uh-uh. This was a one-way trip. You're stuck with me. Deal with it." 

Blinking at him with simple incomprehension, Shatterstar shook his head and looked back the way he had come. He had been in one of the hangers foraging and now had a herd of zombies following his trail. Another cluster was beginning to come around both sides of the tower fence, boxing them in. He reluctantly looked down at Ric. "You are familiar with Wolverine's Fastball Special, yes?" 

"You mean that crazy move he used to do with Colossus? Sure, but- _Hey!_ " He was suddenly picked up off of his feet with absolutely no warning, swung around once, and unceremoniously launched into the air, still screaming protests. He was heading for one of the open windows of the tower and had to credit Star for his aim as he flew straight into the control room. Instincts and extensive training made him duck into a ball as he came down, minimizing his injuries. Colliding with an office chair and rebounding off a radar screen still hurt like blazes, though. He hobbled back to the window, ready to tear a strip off of Star for the rough treatment. The words immediately left his mind when he looked down to the ground. 

Shatterstar had collapsed to his hands and knees, mindless of the approaching horde. It was clear that using his strength to get Ric to safety had taxed what precious little reserves he had left. 

"Star! Snap out of it!" Rictor hollered out of the window. He fired a few seismic blasts around his ailing friend, but had to be careful with his aim. His long-range accuracy wasn't particularly keen with his sort of power. One blast landed between the Mojoworlder and a crawling zombie that was missing most of its body beneath the waist, its guts leaving a slimy trail behind it. The concussive shockwave sent Star rolling safely away and when he raised his head, it looked like he was starting to come around a little. 

Rictor leaned out of the window as far as he dared and extended his hand. "C'mon, buddy! _Jump!_ " 

Grabbing one of the swords he had dropped, Shatterstar managed to cleave the head off a rotter that came too close and climbed unsteadily back to his feet. He looked up at Ric, considering the distance between them and, with an insight that was almost telepathy, Julio knew what was going through Star's mind that instant: That he knew he wouldn't be able to make it. That the time to make his last stand had come. 

_"No!"_ Ric screamed. "Get your ass up here or I'm coming back down! _Jump, damn you!_ " 

His face filled with defiant anger, Star deliberately turned his back on him. He placed his legs in a rooted battle stance and crossed his swords in front of him, facing the advancing pack of shuffling undead, clearly intending to engage them in final combat. 

Rictor tried again. "Star, just try and I'll-" 

_"You left me!"_ Star suddenly exploded, twisting his body to look up at him. The fury on his face wasn't meant for the rotters, Ric realized with shock. It was meant for _him_. "We had something when we were with X-Force and then you left and never came back. Why the _fekt_ should I listen to you now?!" 

"Because I love you," Julio told him, the words easier to say than he ever would have thought possible. He had repeated this conversation over and over in his mind and now that the words were out he could not, for the life of him, wonder why it had taken this long to admit the truth of how he had felt these last three years. "I came back because I love you, _pendejo_. Now get your goddamn ass up here so that we can talk about it!" 

Shatterstar looked absolutely gob smacked. It was such an rare expression on his face that Ric maybe would have laughed if the circumstances weren't so grim. Star looked up at the Mexican, to the horde, and back again; trying to make up his mind. Finally, the blades went into the X-shaped scabbards strapped to his back and he took a running start for the tower and jumped, stretching his body towards Rictor's outstretched hand to full effect. 

He collided hard with the side of the building, a few feet shy of his target of the window. As he began falling back down, he lost unconsciousness. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn't the way he had wanted to die, but it was better than languishing in a bed.

 

* * *

 

Rictor had been a dream. 

That was Shatterstar's first thought when he awoke and found himself on the futon in the control room where he'd made his refuge after ensuring Domino and the others had lifted off to safety. He wondered if they had made it to that site in Russia? If so, he was happy for them and had no regrets about how the circumstances of his life had turned out. He had been reckless with the knowledge of having a healing factor and was now paying for that lapse in spades. It didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would. As a former entertainer of Mojoworld, he was considered past his prime anyway. If anything, this slow process of dying was more of a nuisance than anything else. That fever-dream of his old friend appearing at the airport was just about the high point of his life of these last few, terrible months. He intended to hold onto it for as long as he could. 

He caught the scent of something cooking, some sort of soup, and his stomach immediately lurched. He rolled over and began retching over the side of the bed. He hadn't been able to keep any food down for days, even water was now beyond him, and all that came up was a sour bile that caused him to gag. In the grip of his misery, he was barely aware of a hand patting his back and a voice saying haltingly in Spanish; _"Take it easy. You-you're okay. Things'll . . . They'll be fine."_  

"Rictor?" he gasped, sparing a look over his shoulder. 

The Mexican spared him a strained smile. "I'm here, buddy." 

"I thought . . . I was sure I was dreaming. I fell-" 

"I caught you. You never weighed much before and now you're even lighter. I managed to haul you inside. You've been out cold for the last few hours. I thought . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence that he'd feared the alien wasn't going to wake up. Star's breathing was laboured, as if his lungs were collecting fluid, and being near him felt like being exposed to the stoked coals of a dying fire. 

With difficulty, Star raised himself up to a sitting position and looked down at his arms which were swathed in bandages. "Thank you for dressing my wounds." 

At the reminder, Ric's flushed face lost its color. "I lost count how many bites you have on you. They're pretty badly infected. Wrapping them with paper towels and duct tape probably didn't help any." 

The corner of Star's mouth turned up a little. "Mexican solder." 

"Huh?" 

"That's what you used to call duct tape back when we were-" He cut off the comment and looked down at the ground between his feet, obviously troubled. 

"I'm sorry I left," Ric said. When he didn't get any reaction, he tried again. "I've been beating myself up over it ever since it happened." 

"I cut it with one of my swords." 

Ric had been opening his mouth to try and explain his part in things and stopped, staring at Star in confusion. "What?" 

The alien was running his fingers absently through his hair, which was cut short and- free of the weight of the pony-tail- surprisingly curly. "One of those undead creatures had hold of my hair. I had to slice it off to get away." He faltered, as if perplexed by his words and looked at Ric curiously. "You asked what happened to it, didn't you?" 

"Yeah. Back when-" Julio stopped himself, seeing that his friend was holding onto the barest shreds of lucidity as best he could. The fever and sickness had taken firm hold. He was failing quickly right before the Mexican's eyes. ". . . Yeah, I did," Ric managed to get out. "It was a shock to see at first, but it- Hell, it actually isn't a bad look on you." 

Star spared him a nod of acceptance and then looked away, appearing to stare at a pocket of shadow and becoming lost in thought. His breathing had a heavy, rough rasp to it and his complexion, always fair, was now practically gray. There were bruised half-moons beneath his eyes. "I'm dying," he finally said. 

Ric swallowed and whispered, "I know." He managed to tell his ailing friend about the rescue mission in Kazakhstan. Star was relieved to hear that Domino, X-Treme, Risque, and the mutant children they had picked up during their travels had all made it safely to Muir Island. He did not dwell on the heavy losses during their nearly three-month battle for survival; fellow mutants and various survivors almost four times that number who had perished in the chaos. 

Lifeguard's death, however, did bother him, probably because she been part of his X-Corps Singapore crew. He looked at Ric soberly. "You should not be here. If I suddenly turn-" 

"You're not going to turn." 

"Everyone who is inflicted with this taint eventually turns." 

"Everyone, except Mojoworlders." Ric told him what happened to Longshot, who had gone out on a salvaging mission with the X-Men and gotten infected. It had taken three days of incredible suffering before he finally succumbed to the raging fever. The body was then placed in the morgue in a stasis field, but Longshot never reanimated. The Beast performed an autopsy and concluded that the T-Virus had died right along with the host, but couldn't pin down a definitive answer why that had happened. 

Shatterstar didn't appear to be surprised by that. "We are created out of science and magic as slaves. Alive or dead, our bodies belong to Mojo. Apparently, there is nothing in creation that could wrest control of us from him. Not even a rogue plague. Longshot's uemeur is free and that is all that matters. Soon, my soul will join his." 

"Can . . . can mine come along?" Ric asked in a small voice. "I don't want to be left behind. I don't want to-" His breath hitched and he bit down hard on his lower lip. "- be without you anymore." 

That feverish dullness to Star's silver-blue eyes abated a little and he stared at the other mutant curiously. "What are you talking about? What's wrong with you?" 

"A lot of things," Ric admitted. "But this is the worst of it." He held out his left hand and slid back the arm of his coat. His palm was an ugly purple color. There were several shallow scratches in the center of the swollen flesh that were already oozing pus. Lines of infection had spread past his wrist and were already halfway up his arm. "I'm infected, too. This bug really likes mutants. I figure I've got maybe half a day before I . . . y'know." 

Star looked horrified. "Did you treat my wounds and not wear gloves? I could not bear to have your death on my conscience-" 

"It wasn't you. Rahne accidentally scratched me. On that mission to retrieve Domino's bunch, I took off my gloves to use my power and didn't put them back on. Wiped some rotter blood off my visor. That was all it took." 

With surprising gentleness for a person in his condition, Star took Rictor's wounded hand into both of his and enfolded it as if cradling some precious, delicate creature. He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. Ric was stunned to see tears start to trail down his pale cheeks. "Oh Dios, Gav. Please don't cry or you'll set me off, too. I'm trying really hard to stay macho here." 

"I was secure with the knowledge that you were alive and safe on Muir Island," Star said harshly. "I was content to die knowing that you would live on. But now this- _This!_ " He shook his head fiercely. "It is not right. _It's not fair!_ " 

"It was either this or suicide sometime down the road anyway," Rictor said bleakly. He could feel the tears spill from the corners of his eyes but made no effort to wipe them away. "I was miserable on that island. You weren't there." 

Still keeping his eyes averted, Star murmured, "I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, too. I never should have left X-Force the way I did. I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry-" His voice hoarsened with emotion and he fought to get the rest of the words out. "Nothing's really gone right for me since then. All I've felt is this void inside me. I wish I could go back in time to that day in Xavier's study and not leave the team- not leave _you_ \- the way I did. That would have changed _everything!_ " 

"Wishes are for children, which we are not anymore. You are here now and we are reunited in this crisis together. That is all that matters. I forgive you, Julio." 

That crushing despair around Ric's heart eased with the pardon. " _Gracias, estrella_. Thank you so much-" He broke off coughing and when he wiped his mouth, he saw the bloody froth that was smeared across the back of his hand. "Oh god, it's started. I-I'm-" He looked up at his friend with wide, terrified eyes. "Gav . . . ?" 

Shatterstar pulled him forward and they embraced and wept against the other's shoulder freely and without shame; tears shed from men barely out of their teens and forced to face an impossible situation and accept the grim certainty of their mortality and fast-approaching death. It was enough to crumple the wills of men three times their age, but they were mutants who had endured torture and trauma and battle for most of their comparatively short lives and left scarred and hardened by that shared experience. They stayed close together like that for an unknown length of time until there was a muffled explosion from outside. Star reluctantly pulled away and struggled to his feet. Holding onto the nearby equipment for support, he made it over to one of the windows. 

"IED?" Rictor asked, loathe to be parted from his friend. During that comforting contact, Julio had finally begun to feel something other than his constant, oppressive sense of despair. It was as if his soul had stirred to wakefulness, vibrating like crystal in harmonious accord with Star's own. He hadn't felt that rejuvenated in three long years. The Mojoworlder was right: It wasn't fucking fair. 

Star looked outside, noticing the angle of shadows that marked it being late afternoon. Below the tower was a huge horde of zombies that had encircled the building in the few hours he had been unconscious. "I planted several in the compound surrounding this tower. It means the dead things have broken through the wire fence." 

Rictor came up along side of him and looked down at the moving, shambling tide of undead flesh. "I take it the downstairs is fortified?" 

"Yes. It will slow them down, but not stop them. We have come to the end of our season, Julio." Shatterstar pulled his swords free from their scabbards and inspected them one last time more out of nostalgia than necessity. "The time of our cancellation is nigh." 

"How do you want to do it?" The question came out easier than Ric would have thought possible. 

"I had no intention of leaving behind a corpse that would reanimate and continue on with such dishonourable, not to mention, highly unpleasant conduct," the Mojoworlder told him, his face grim but without fear. "In my deteriorating condition, I'd figured that using my shockwave power to full effect would destroy me. The tactic was sound, but now that you are here . . ." He hesitated, staring at his friend with haunted eyes. 

"No, it's still a good strategy," Ric assured him. "We'll go out together. Maybe my power can even amp yours up a little and take out all these diseased motherfuckers in one go. We never tried doing a thing like that before." 

"We never dared." Their powers were both vibrational in nature; with Star's geared towards shifts in the acoustic spectrum and Ric's being rooted in the seismic tides of the earth. During their X-Force days, Cable had theorized that if the pair were to ever combine their energies into one concentrated blast, the effect could be devastating. He hadn't been crazy enough to let them try it. 

Ric attempted a sickly smile. "No time like the present, _si amigo_?" 

There was a muffled crash far below them as the rotters began attacking whatever barricade Star had placed against the tower's entrance. "Yes," the Mojoworlder said, moving to the center of the circular room. He went down to his knees and punched both swords deep into the ceramic tile, grasping the hilts in a firm grip. 

Rictor was pitifully grateful that Shatterstar had the warrior's resolve to be the one begin this act. If Ric had been expected to start what was ultimately going to be their final, suicidal strike, he wasn't sure if he would have been able to do it. He was no coward, not when his back was against the wall or if his friends were in danger, but taking the initiative was simply not his forte. He was a follower, not a leader, so when his best friend began to hum, he sat down close beside him and simply waited for his cue. The time for sarcastic banter was over. This was deadly serious business and they both knew it. Far below, there was another loud smash and this time the building shook from the force of ravenous rotters trying to force their way inside. Ric could hear the snarls and grunts of the approaching horde even over the growing volume of Star's vibrational buzz. His swords started to glow; barely perceptible at first, but growing with every passing second. 

"When should I start powering up?" Ric dared to ask. 

Star didn't hear him. He had tuned out everything with the effort to concentrate on marshalling his mutant power, which was a taxing, exhausting effort even when he had been in peak physical condition. Blood was pouring from his nose in a torrent, bathing the front of his shirt. The glow of his swords became a brilliant, shocking strobe of brightness and Ric had to hold up one hand in front of his eyes to shield them from the glare. That eldritch light moved up Star's bandaged arms and began to encompass his entire body and Ric braced himself for the explosion that never came. 

"I can't," Shatterstar rasped, panting for breath. The glow began to fade and he started to shake from something more than the stress of marshalling the limited depths of his mutant ability. He spared Ric a miserable look of agony. "I won't do this. Not with you-" 

"There's no backing out of this," Ric said. He placed a supporting arm around his friend's trembling shoulders and wrapped his other hand around one of the fists gripping the swords. The contact was electric. Elemental green light merged with alien white and exploded around the pair of them. 

Ric cried out, but more in surprise than pain. It really didn't hurt as the duel energies burrowed through clothing and skin and deep down into muscle and bone until it touched the part that united them both. It went deeper than the genetics that made them mutants and encompassed both of their souls, uniting them with an intimacy that transcended the physical realm. 

Shatterstar stared at the union of their hands in disbelief and then looked desperately at Ric. In that precious instant of time, their shared power eased the toll the sickness had wrought on his appearance. He looked vibrant and whole again, as if the last three years of strained separation had never happened. Struggling with words, he managed to get out, "Julio, I lo-" 

And then he was gone. 

Julio felt the explosion of particles sweep past him until he was the only one left sitting on the floor holding onto a pair of alien swords. With their owner gone, they should have powered down but didn't; they were eagerly sucking the energy Rictor was feeding them and he had a pretty good idea why that was. Tears were coursing down his face, but he was smiling at the same time. "I can feel you waiting for me. I'm coming, Gav," he whispered and dropped the barricades he usually kept around his power and directed all of his energy into the weapons in one concentrated burst. He shouted out with the sheer joy of finally letting go just as his body blasted apart into a million points of light. 

All that remained of him was one small, flickering spark. It tentatively joined a second mote of light that was hovering nearby. As a pair, they danced briefly together in the explosion and then streaked up towards the heavens. 

The planet felt the desperate energy release of two souls finally united in love and responded with a shudder that was almost orgasmic.

 

* * *

 

Cassie St. Commons was staring out over the Atlantic when she felt her rapport with Rictor abruptly end. There had been a flash of indescribable beauty to her friend's thoughts in that last instant, impossible to decipher, but it filled her with a sense of wonder that almost eclipsed the loss it represented. Julio Richter was dead, but she caught a sense that wherever he had passed on, he was no longer travelling alone. 

Xavier was back in her mind, as he had been ever since she'd come back from China alone. She still didn't respond to the summons. She could see through his eyes what was happening in Cerebra's control room; the chaos and confusion. The X-Men were gathered there as well as all of the members of X-Force. They had just witnessed a spike on the holographic map indicative of a power release that eclipsed anything any of them had ever seen before, save maybe that of the Phoenix force. Rictor was an Alpha class mutant, but the explosion of power had transcended the level of an Omega. It had been of duel origin; compatible energy that had harmonized and resonated together with such totality that all that was left of the airport of Chiang Mai was a five mile-wide crater that burrowed deep down into the mantle of this now-diseased world. That explosion had been so extensive that it was picked up by a passing Shi'ar probe and transmitted back to the throne worlds. In short time, the restriction would be lifted from Earth and ships from three different empires would be dispatched to save the survivors and take them safely to another place free of death and destruction. And all thanks to the last ditch effort from a pair of doomed lovers. 

Cassie was unaware of their impending rescue. She only knew that she had lost a close friend and would soon join the others in the control room and tell them Rictor and Shatterstar's story: About a pair of kindred spirits who had found solace for a short time with each other, separated, and then reunited in a dramatic final display of what only true love could accomplish. 

Sniffing back tears, she grasped duel handfuls of sand and threw them to the wind where the particles mixed together and were carried out to sea. "There are other worlds than these. May the both of you find each other again and stay together. Be happy." 

The wind shifted direction and a faint breeze brushed past her cheek. She could have sworn she heard words in that brief swatch of wind whisper in her ear: 

_"We will."_

* * *

~The End . . .

**Author's Note:**

> I found the above fan art by "blithefool" from the website: http://fuckyeahricstar.tumblr.com/ and had to add it. Thanks so much!
> 
> This alternate universe bears no resemblance to the Marvel 616 events of my other story "A Year in Review". Here, Rictor and Shatterstar began a clandestine relationship shortly after Julio joined X-Force and that lasted until Ric quit the team in issue 44. In this reality, Star took that abandonment personally and held a bitter grudge against his former team-mate/lover right up until their final, fatal reunion. There was no Ben Russell incident to call Ric back to the group in #59, and Star went with Cable when the team broke up in #70. Ric handled the mess with his relatives in Mexico alone and then joined the Paris branch of X-Corporation while Star joined the X-Corps crew in Singapore. Then, all hell broke loose Resident Evil style. 
> 
> Moral of the story: Don't think you have forever to tie up loose ends, because you never know when the 'real' end is coming. . .


End file.
